


Brendon Urie: Secret Ballroom Dancer

by sunsetmog



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, M/M, Not Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not fic: "You never said you could dance," Shane says again, flicking through the photo albums. "Is this spandex?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brendon Urie: Secret Ballroom Dancer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohohstarryeyed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohohstarryeyed/gifts).



> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/48184.html) in December 2009.
> 
> This shifts moods half way through and I couldn't ever find the right balance, but I was always charmed by the idea of Brendon being a secret ballroom dancer.

~*~

"Mom says she's bought too much for dinner and we have to go over there to help her eat it all," Brendon says, wandering into the kitchen and not even trying to hide his yawn. He rubs sleepily at his eyes and drops his cell phone on the counter, leaning over and stealing some of Shane's coffee. 

"Sounds good," Shane says, batting Brendon's hand away. "Get your own coffee, Urie." 

Brendon grins. Shane's eating a bowl full of Cheerios and reading the funny pages of a newspaper that's probably at least three weeks old. They're really crappy at throwing things in the trash.

"Cruel," Brendon says, yawning again and waiting until Shane turns the page so he can steal more of his coffee. 

Shane kicks him in the shin. "There's some in the pot for you," he says, deliberately sliding his mug out of Brendon's reach. 

Shane isn't always the most cheerful person first thing in the morning. Brendon, on the other hand, is. "Got it, cranky pants." Brendon dodges Shane's swipe and pulls his big cereal bowl out of the cupboard. He creates a masterpiece of froot loops, frosted flakes and cocoa pebbles, adding the remains of the milk and stirring it all up with his finger so that the milk changes color in giant whorls. He licks his finger while he rummages in the drawer for a spoon, reaching over to the coffee pot and pouring his coffee into a mug and dumping in the remains of a bag of sugar. "So. Mom and Dad's."

"Sure," Shane says, with a shrug. He moves over so there's room at the counter for Brendon to sit down with his over-full cereal bowl. "I like your mom and dad better than I like you anyway."

"Dick," Brendon says, brightly, poking Shane with the end of his spoon. He ignores the chair and leans over the counter, reading the comic strips over Shane's shoulder. He's splashed milk over Shane's t-shirt, but seeing as Shane's still pretty cranky, Brendon doesn't tell him. "You want to drive?" he asks, grabbing Shane's wrist so he couldn't turn the page before Brendon's finished reading. 

"Your turn," Shane says, elbowing him. "I did it last time." 

"Cool," Brendon says with a grin. He likes to drive. 

~*~

"What's the occasion, anyway?" Shane asks, once they're in Brendon's mom and dad's living room. 

Brendon shrugs, toeing off his sneakers and wiggling his toes. "I told you, my mom bought too much. She makes good chicken, though, you'll like it."

"That's right," Brendon's mom says, coming into the living room and wiping her hands on her apron. "It's Brendon's grandmother's recipe. She shared it with me when I married Brendon's father. Everyone has to try it at least once."

"It's like an initiation," Brendon says, with a grin. He leans over and kisses his mom on the cheek. "Beware the consequences if you don't like it, Shane. Not everyone passes the chicken test."

Shane laughs, toeing off his own sneakers and taking off his jacket. He sits down on the couch, hands on his knees. "Should I be worried?"

"Brendon," his mom says, with a smile. "Stop teasing Shane."

"Never," Brendon says, theatrically. He climbs onto the couch next to Shane, leaning over and tickling him under one arm.

Shane rolls his eyes and pokes Brendon in the side. Brendon sees him smile, though.

~*~

Brendon had forgotten how good his grandmother's chicken recipe was. "This is awesome, Mom," he says, with his mouth full. 

"Brendon," his dad rolls his eyes. For a moment, Brendon thinks he's going to tell him off. "Don't tell me you've forgotten how good a cook your mom is."

"Never," Brendon says, proudly. "Mom's cooking is amazing." 

Brendon's dad elbows him. "But not as good as mine," he whispers. 

Brendon grins, parroting his father. "But not as good as Dad's cooking. Sorry, Mom. No offence." Brendon's dad always wears his chef's hat and apron when he cooks. He insists on wearing it all the way through the cooking to the eating and beyond, and he makes everyone call him chef. It's stupid, which is kind of why Brendon loves being around when his dad's in the kitchen. 

" _Boys_ ," his mom says, shaking her head. "I despair of the pair of you. Shane? How do you like it?" 

"It's really good," Shane tells her, wiping his mouth on his napkin. "Your cooking is amazing."

"At least somebody appreciates me," Brendon's mom says, poking Brendon in the arm with her finger. 

Brendon grins. "I guess this means I'm doing the dishes?" 

"Got it in one, sweetheart."

Brendon groans. He hates doing dishes, always has, and he spent much of his childhood trying to get out of it. He'd spotted a bag of sour gummy worms in the cupboard earlier, though, and he figures he can probably get half way through the bag before anyone realizes what he was up to. He grins. 

"I'll help," Shane says, suspiciously, but Brendon's parents tell him an emphatic _no_ and make him sit back down again. 

In the kitchen by himself, Brendon re-tunes his mom's radio to a pop station. He sings along as he washes the dishes, helping himself to gummy worms. He doesn't worry about Shane being left alone with his parents; Shane's a big boy and his parents like him. Brendon thinks he's been pretty lucky in finding a roommate his parents like; they're still not so keen on Ryan and Spencer, even after all these years. Brendon sort of thinks it might be _because_ of all these years. He re-tunes the radio until he finds something he can sing along with; he joins in half way through a Britney track. 

He's halfway through the chorus when he hears Shane's shout of laughter echoing down the hallway. His mom and dad can be pretty funny, but Brendon's kind of sure that they're not funny enough to make Shane laugh like that. Even _Brendon_ isn't funny enough to make Shane laugh like that more than about once a month. He frowns, dripping soap suds down his jeans. 

"What's so funny?" he calls down the hall. He's wearing his dad's second-best apron, the one with the wipe clean crossword on the front. He's not particularly sure his dad's ever actually forgiven him for filling in all the clues in permanent sharpie back when he was a kid. 

Shane laughs again, louder this time, and Brendon's really suspicious now. Shane never belly-laughs, at least not without Brendon around. His parents definitely aren't _that_ funny.

"Shane?" Brendon calls. He peels off his rubber gloves and drops them in the sink, untying his apron and wandering down the hall and into the den. 

"Bden," Shane says, tripping over himself in his hurry to stand up and clap Brendon on the shoulder. "You never said you could dance."

"I can't," Brendon says, automatically, because that's the answer he's been giving since he was fifteen years old. 

Shane laughs again, shaking his head. "You're such a liar, Urie."

"Am not," Brendon says. 

"Brendon," his mom says. "Don't lie. We showed Shane the photographs."

Brendon blinks, then looks past Shane and his mom to the coffee table, where the old family photo albums are spread across the top. 

"You didn't," he says, before he's had a chance to think about it. He can feel the horror mounting inside of him, a tightly winding coil in his belly. 

"Brendon -" his mom starts. Her smiles falters, just a little bit. 

"You never said you could _dance_ ," Shane says again, flicking through the photo albums. "Is this _spandex_?"

"No," Brendon says, pushing past his mom and shutting the photo albums. "I can't dance, and that isn't spandex, it's a _unitard_."

Shane makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a snort, and Brendon bundles up all the photo albums and disappears upstairs to his old bedroom, where he hides them under the bed and slams the door. 

When he goes back downstairs, Shane's waiting at the bottom. 

"Dude," he says. 

"Fuck you," Brendon says, shortly. 

"You've upset your mom," Shane says. 

"She's upset me," Brendon says belligerently. 

Shane raises an eyebrow, and Brendon ducks his head and heads back into the kitchen to finish the dishes. 

~*~

So, the thing is, Brendon used to dance. 

Not just around his bedroom, or the living room, but in classes, most nights a week. He did ballet and contemporary and tap and jazz dance right up until he was twelve, at which point he'd decided that he wanted to be like Fred Astaire and not Nureyev. He'd bugged his mom to let him give up the ballet and contemporary and tap, and he'd transferred into more ballroom dance classes, only keeping up with the jazz dance because he'd liked the music. He'd had a closet full of jazz shoes and dance pants and stupid tote bags that all the girls had and he'd wanted too.

And then he'd gotten to high school, and three days in some kid had pushed him over and all the stuff in his backpack had ended up all across the hallway, his dance bag included, and that had been that.

He'd managed another four months of classes before he couldn't keep doing it anymore. He'd come home one day after school and bundled all his dance stuff into boxes and out into the hallway. He'd refused to go to any more classes and not even his parents saying that they'd paid up until the end of the year was enough to persuade him to change his mind. 

He was going to concentrate on music, he'd said, folding his arms. He was bored of dancing, and he didn't enjoy it anymore. No, no one was giving him a hard time about it, and he wouldn't listen to them even if they were. 

No one had wanted to be his friend, though, even when he'd stopped dragging his dance bag to school every day. 

He still missed dancing.

~*~

"Shane says you used to be a dancer," Jon says, over the phone. 

"How the fuck do you know about that?" Brendon asks, kicking the back of the couch and resolving to feed all of Shane's food to the dogs and spill red bull all over his laptop again. 

"He emailed us all," Jon says, lazily. "Said you deserved it for being an ass to your mom."

"Fuck him," Brendon kicks over a pile of Shane's clean laundry. 

"So it's true?" Jon says. "You used to be a dancer? How come you never told us?"

"I wasn't a dancer," Brendon says, picking at a stain on the couch with his finger. "I just danced when I was a kid, that's all. No biggie."

"Uh-huh," Jon says. "You kept that pretty quiet."

"Because it's _boring_ , that's why," Brendon says. He feels desperate inside, kind of taut and wound tight. He remembers all the kids at school making fun of him, and how no one had wanted to be friends with the weird dancing kid. "Totally boring and not interesting at all."

"Hmm," Jon says. "Did you really wear a unitard?"

"He's going _down_ ," Brendon says, savagely, and hangs up. 

~*~

"I've been thinking," Ryan says, "about maybe putting more dancing into the show."

Brendon blinks, and shakes his head. "No fucking way," he says. "It was nothing, I was a _kid_ , and I hated it anyway. Everyone hated it. It was stupid, okay? I was a stupid dancer, and I'm not doing it now, so don't even try and make me."

"Fine," Ryan says, rolling his eyes. "Jesus. Who crawled up your ass?"

"Fuck you," Brendon says. "You try having everyone try and force you to do something you hated when you were a kid."

"Fine, we get it," Ryan says. "No dancing."

~*~

"I'm just saying," Shane says, late one night when they're sprawled across their living room and their dogs are eating the remains of their pizza, "that for someone who says they hate dancing, you looked pretty happy in all those pictures."

Brendon remembers what it felt like, to let go and just _dance_ , and it kind of hurts a little. 

"I'm good at acting," Brendon says, reaching for the remote. 

"No," Shane says, "you're not."

Brendon flicks up and down the channels and doesn't look across at Shane or Spencer, who is carefully flicking Doritos at Ryan, passed out in the armchair. 

~*~

Brendon's birthday party is totally fucking awesome until the lights go up and the projection screen comes out, and Shane steps up and tells everyone to shut up and listen. 

Someone passes Brendon another beer and claps him on the back. He tries to find his mom and dad in the crowd, because he _knows_ what this is. He suddenly knows what was on those videos and DVDs his dad had passed over to Shane, and he knows what Shane's going to put on the fucking big screen at his _birthday_ party. 

He thinks abstractly that if Ryan hadn't got his arm across Brendon's shoulders, and if he wasn't hemmed in by people who were supposed to _like_ him, he'd just take off. Turn around and take off and hit a club with people who didn't want to ruin his whole entire life by showing embarrassing videos of him fucking _dancing_.

"Okay," Shane yells, "shut up." He waits until everyone stops catcalling, and then he says, "So, tonight we've got a special treat because we've got a film to show that shows Brendon in a way none of us have seen him before-"

"Apart from _us_ ," Brendon's brothers and sisters call, and Brendon resolves to never speak to any of them again. 

"Okay, apart from Brendon's _family_ ," Shane goes on. "So, anyway, a long, long time ago in a galaxy, far, far away -"

Everyone laughs, and then Shane starts the film, and it's a compilation of Brendon's dancing videos from when he was a kid, including clips from when he used to take part in ballroom dance competitions. 

Everyone starts to cheer, and laugh.

~*~

Afterwards, Brendon wonders how he ever pretended that he hated dancing. It's written all over his face, just how much he loved it, all the way through every moment of every single clip. 

~*~

Spencer rings the doorbell at way-too-early-o'clock the following morning. 

"Fuck you," Brendon says, blearily, once he's gotten the door open. He rubs his eyes. "Why aren't you hungover?"

"Because it's three in the fucking afternoon," Spencer says, leaning in and ruffling his hair. "And because I'm magic, and you're unlucky."

"Yeah," Brendon says, batting Spencer's hand away. "It still counts as my birthday, somewhere. You should make me coffee."

"There's some in the pot," Shane yells from the living room. "Hey, Spence."

"Hey," Spencer says, sticking his head around the living room door. 

"There's probably enough coffee for two," Shane says. He's in his sweats, sprawled across the couch with the TV on and a newspaper spread across his lap. Dylan's chasing her tail and chewing on a squeaky toy and she's kind of ridiculous. "Regan's coming over in a while, though, you want to put some more on when you're done?"

"Sure thing," Spencer says, mock-saluting him and pushing Brendon into the kitchen. "You need a shower," Spencer tells him, reaching past him onto the draining board for a mug. 

"I smell fresh and sweet," Brendon says, sitting down and wiggling his toes. 

"Or like stale beer," Spencer tells him, pouring them both coffee and sliding one mug down the counter to Brendon. 

"Mmmmm," Brendon says. "Sign of a good night, old beer."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "If you say so."

"I do," Brendon says, gulping at the coffee and breathing it in. 

"Here," Spencer says, and slides an envelope across to Brendon. 

"What's this?" Brendon asks, interestedly. 

"Your birthday present," Spencer says. "And before you ask, they're totally non-refundable, so you're stuck with them."

"Gee," Brendon says, "thanks."

He opens the envelope and lets the contents spill out across the surface. It's a set of vouchers for ten ballroom dance classes at a studio across Vegas. 

"What the fuck?" Brendon says, stupidly. 

"Dance classes," Spencer says. 

"Yeah," Brendon says, staring down at the vouchers. "But, you know. Why?"

Spencer shrugs. "I just figured," he says, shrugging again and taking another gulp of coffee. "You didn't give up dancing because you hated it, so. You shouldn't have to give up something you liked. So, yeah. I figured you could give it another go."

"I did hate it," Brendon says, turning the vouchers over and over in his fingers. "I totally gave it up because I hated it."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Sorry. That's what I meant."

"So," Brendon says, "why the vouchers?"

Spencer shrugs. "You looked like you were having fun in those videos. I thought you might have fun if you danced again, that's all." 

"Right," Brendon says. "Okay. Thanks."

~*~

Brendon carefully slides the envelope into the corner of the picture frame in his bedroom. He's not going to use them, but it was nice of Spencer to get them for him. 

~*~

"So," Jon says, half way through the tour. "Shane says Spencer bought you dance classes for your birthday."

"Jeez," Brendon says. "Shane says a lot."

"Yeah," Jon says, "he's good like that."

Brendon slides his phone out of his pocket and texts Shane, _ur fired were no longer friends_. 

"So," Jon says. "the dance classes."

"I hate dancing," Brendon says, grumpily. Shane texts back, _gud, never liked u neway_.

"Yeah," Jon agrees. "I hate flip-flops, too."

"Liar," Brendon says, without thinking. 

"Yeah," Jon nods. "Funny, that."

"I'm not going dancing on my own," Brendon says, after a minute. 

"Good thing they're vouchers for two, then, I guess."

Brendon blinks. "What, really?"

Jon laughs. "Yeah, really. Did you look at them at all?"

Brendon coughs.

~*~

"Brendon hasn't booked his dance classes because he hasn't got anyone to go with," Jon says, loudly, that evening. 

"I never said that," Brendon says. 

"Close enough," Jon says, and knees Brendon under the table. 

"I'll go with you," Zack says, half way through his bacon double cheeseburger. 

"What," Brendon says, freezing. "Really?"

"No," Zack says, a moment later. "Not really."

Ryan snorts, and elbows Spencer. 

Spencer elbows him back and looks down at his plate. 

"Anyone?" Jon says, looking around the table. "Anyone here want to go to ballroom dance classes with Brendon? Eric? Ryan?"

"You should stop trying to auction me off," Brendon says, through a mouthful of fries. "Nobody wants to go to dance classes, it's okay."

Ryan and Spencer are having a muffled conversation down the other end of the table. 

"No," Jon says, meaningfully, "really. Someone here must want to go to ballroom dance classes with Brendon."

Spencer drops his cutlery. "Fine," he says, "fine. I'll go. If you haven't got anyone else to go with, I'll do it."

"What?" Brendon says. "Really?"

Spencer looks decidedly pink. "Yes," he says. "Really."

"See," Jon says, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

~*~

"Shane's booked the two of you in for classes," Ryan says, looking up from his phone. 

"That was quick," Brendon says. 

"Yeah," Spencer agrees, narrowing his eyes. "Almost _too_ quick."

Brendon rolls his eyes and pulls his hoodie over his face. Fucking _dance classes_. 

~*~

"Worst idea ever," Brendon says, ten minutes before Spencer's due to come over so they can go to their first dance class. 

"Yeah," Shane says, coming into the living room with a slice of pizza. "I know. You hate dancing, dancing hates you, this is like a crime against humanity, all your friends hate you, the world hates you, dancing sucks, yeah, I get it."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "I hate dancing," he says. 

"Yeah," Shane says. "So you keep saying."

"I _do_ ," Brendon says. "Dancing sucks."

Shane rolls his eyes and throws his flip-flop at Brendon's head. "Whoops," he says, "my hand slipped. I hate it when that happens."

"Fuck you," Brendon says, throwing it right back so it bounces off the side of the couch and lands on the floor by Dylan. "You're a dick."

"Careful," Shane says, "you'll scare the dog."

Brendon groans. "I'm going to hang out on the street and wait for Spence."

"You do that," Shane says agreeably. "You two have fun now."

Brendon punches Shane in the arm as he goes by, just because.

~*~

For someone whose job it is to make up the rhythm section of their band, Spencer's pretty shitty at dancing. 

It takes him half of the first class to figure out he's supposed to be counting to three, and the other half to figure out how not to step on Brendon's feet. Or rather, it takes Brendon most of the class to figure out how to avoid Spencer's feet. 

"Dude," Brendon says, after Spencer's made the same mistake eight times in a row. "Really?"

"Just because you're a dance genius, or whatever," Spencer says, stopping and wiping his brow. 

Brendon just laughs, because there are about ten other couples in their class, nine of which are well into their retirement and one of which is a reluctant couple practicing for the first dance at their wedding. None of them are exactly _awesome_. 

~*~

It's fun. They go back, and when the ten classes are up, they pay for another ten.

~*~ 

"I'm not doing it," Brendon says, unlocking his front door and dropping his bag onto the floor by the stairs. 

"Well," Spencer says, following him, "that makes you a fucking idiot."

"What, just because I don't want to -" Brendon stops short in the doorway. "What the fuck are you guys doing here?"

"I live here," Shane points out. "I have done for a while."

Brendon makes a face and chucks his hoodie at Shane's head. He misses and catches Regan instead, who rolls her eyes and chucks it back at him. "Yeah," Brendon says. "I just didn't expect, well." He waves his hand around the room at Jon and Ryan and Eric. "You guys too."

Brendon blinks, and Spencer drops his dance bag on the floor. 

"How come I'm the last to fucking know _everything_ around here?" Spencer asks. 

"Stop complaining," Ryan says. "What are you two arguing about, anyway?"

"Dance competition," Spencer says, as Brendon says, _nothing_.

Jon raises his eyebrows. "Dance competition? Really?"

"Blah blah blah," Brendon says. "There's a dance competition, yeah, so what."

"And you should _enter_ ," Spencer says, exasperatedly. "Trina's really good, and you're really good, and she needs a partner. It's like you're stupid, or something."

"You're my stupid dance partner," Brendon says, grumpily. "I don't even know who Trina is and I don't want to dance with her. And I hate fucking dance competitions."

Shane rolls his eyes. "You mean, you hated them when you were a kid."

"People _laugh at me_ ," Brendon says, under his breath. "It's not like that's top of my list of things to voluntarily _choose_ to do."

"Well, they can laugh at _me_ then, too," Spencer says. "Give me that phone, I'm calling up and putting our names down."

"No," Brendon says, grumpily. "I don't want to."

"Well," Spencer says, " _I_ want to. How come I don't get to dance in stupid fucking dance competitions just because you don't want to?"

Brendon makes a sound under his breath and folds his arms. But Spencer got him the dance lessons and Spencer's his best friend, and maybe Spencer's kind of cute, so. "Whatever," he says, and doesn't think at all about how good it used to feel to dance in front of other people. 

He doesn't stop Spencer calling up and registering them for the competition.

~*~

Jon, Ryan and Shane come along to the dance competition too—ostensibly to laugh a lot and point, but Brendon sees them unfurling something that looks like a banner when he darts out from the dressing rooms to get a can of soda from the vending machine. 

He texts Shane, _wht the fuck dude_ , and Shane texts back, _bden n spence 4 dance champs_.

It's kind of nice, actually.

Spencer kind of looks cute in his dance outfit, even though he's grumpy and nervous and looking decidedly like this was a terrible idea. 

Brendon bumps his shoulder and says, "It's okay, we can count to three, this is going to be a breeze."

"I hate dancing," Spencer says, grumpily.

"You _see_?" Brendon says, but now he's here, he kind of just wants to get out and on to the dance floor. 

They dance the waltz in the amateur round, and that means they take the floor with far too many people who seem pretty much unable to hold down a steady rhythm. It's weird, dancing with this many people, and it's tense and a bit awkward, but also... kind of nice. Spencer spends most of the time counting out 1-2-3 in Brendon's ear, and Brendon tries to remember his rigid frame as he leads Spencer around the floor, but they don't actually do too badly.

Afterwards, when the crowd are clapping and somewhere a long way away Shane and Ryan and Jon are whooping, Brendon hugs Spencer, and says without thinking, "I think you're kind of cute."

Spencer looks the other way and says, "Me too," and Brendon's heart skips a beat. 

~*~

They don't win, but Brendon doesn't care much. He and Spencer pretend like nothing ever happened, like they never said what they said, like things are just the same as they were before.

Brendon thinks about Spencer a lot more than he used to, now.

~*~

"So," Ryan says, "we need to talk about how we're going to fit you dancing into the show."

"Yeah," Brendon says, "no."

"Come on," Shane says, "you know you want to."

"I know I hate you," Brendon says. Dylan whines and Brendon picks her up, curling her into his lap. 

"You totally don't," Shane says. "And you also want to dance on stage again, so you should just stop pretending you don't and just let Ryan figure you out some shit to do."

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Seriously," he says, "you're all fired. I need better friends."

"Except for how you don't," Shane points out. "We just know you too well, that's all."

Brendon sighs, and scratches Dylan between her ears. "I'm not letting Ryan choreograph anything," he says, finally. 

"There you go," Shane says, with a grin. "There's your deal, Ryan."

"Done," Ryan says, after a beat. He laughs. 

Brendon just shakes his head and lets Dylan lick his nose. "I'm going to regret this," he says. 

"You're going to love it," Jon says lazily, from the couch. He holds his hand up and Shane grins and leans in for a high-five. 

"You're ganging up on me," Brendon says, pouting. 

"We're re-appropriating your childhood trauma," Ryan tells him. "It's kind of the same thing, though, I guess."

Brendon makes a sound in his throat and doesn't say anything. 

~*~

Brendon's kind of excited, if he can let himself get over the crippling fear long enough for him to figure out what it is he is feeling. 

They've been working with the girls from the Lucent Dossier Vaudeville circus troupe again, and while it's not the same kind of extravaganza they were putting on back at the beginning, like _Nothing Rhymes With Circus_ , there's a different feel to the shows already. There are costumes, for a start, although they're nothing like they used to wear—Brendon had already threatened to pull out if there was going to be a rose vest involved, for a start—but it was kind of _fun_. 

Brendon's been practicing with Ramona, one of the girls from the circus troupe. They've choreographed a piece where they slow down one of their songs so that there's a melodic part in the middle where Ramona comes out and Brendon waltzes with her. 

The audience _eat it up_ , and Brendon loves it, and Spencer tells Brendon he loves it because Brendon's a really good dancer and should never have stopped. 

So everything's fine, except that sometimes Brendon catches Spencer's eye while he's waltzing with Ramona and wishes that he was dancing with Spencer instead.

~*~

On the last night of the tour Brendon keeps catching Spencer's eye while he's dancing with Ramona. It's weird; there's a strange, desperate pull in his chest because he's dancing with the _wrong person_. Ramona's lovely, but she's not Spencer; Brendon doesn't want to be up here with her, he wants to be dancing with Spencer, who volunteered for ballroom dance classes just to get Brendon dancing again. 

He doesn't follow the routine. When he's supposed to pick his guitar up and join back in with the music, he doesn't. He waltzes Ramona off the stage but when he comes back on, he just stands in the middle and lets Ryan and Jon continue to fill. The crowd are still cheering but the moment stretches; Brendon can't move. 

"Brendon," Ryan hisses. 

"I want to dance with Spencer," he says, and he blinks. He reaches for the microphone. "I want to dance with Spencer," he says, and then he adds, "because it's the last night and Spencer never gets to be up front with the rest of us."

Ryan and Jon and Eric are all staring at him, but Brendon just shakes his head and jumps up onto Spencer's riser. 

"Dance with me," he says, and Spencer waits a beat before nodding, and taking Brendon's hand. 

Everyone _screams_ , and Brendon starts to waltz with Spencer, and they both go a little pink, but it's just a _joke_. It's a joke, and the music ends and Spencer goes back to his drums and Brendon takes center stage again, and that's it. They go on with the show and when they come off stage, it's the end of the tour. 

~*~

"Spencer's ignoring me," Brendon complains, after Spencer fails to answer his phone for the gazillionth time in three days. 

Jon looks a little shifty. "No, he's not," he says. "He's probably just busy."

"Spencer's never busy," Brendon says. "Like, seriously. It's downtime, that's totally just hanging out with me time. Where the fuck is he?"

"He's uh," Ryan doesn't look up. "He's out of town."

"Oh," Brendon says, and he feels sad. "How come he didn't tell me?"

"He probably didn't mean to forget," Jon says, apologetically. 

"Oh," Brendon says again. "Right."

~*~

"Spencer's not out of town," Brendon says, dully. He dumps his car keys on the table and slumps down onto the couch, shifting Jon's sleeping bag out of the way. "I've just seen his car at the grocery store."

Ryan and Jon share a glance. Shane clears his throat and concentrates on the dog. "Uh, maybe he lent his car to his mom," Jon says. 

"Yeah," Ryan adds. "I think her car was in the shop."

Brendon shakes his head. "Yeah, no. He was there, I saw him." His chest _actually hurts_. He stands up and goes into the kitchen and stares at the fridge door for a minute. He thinks he might be in love with Spencer, just a little bit, but now everything's gone to shit, and he doesn't know why. 

"Brendon -" Jon says, from the doorway. "Look." He leans over the counter and pokes Brendon in the arm. "Dude, Spencer was preparing a surprise for you, that's why he lied to you. You have to act surprised when he springs it on you. And don't hate him for lying to you, because Ryan will hurt you."

"What," Brendon says, carefully, because really. _What_. 

"He's uh," Jon looks apologetic. "He's taking a dance course. Like, one of those intense ones? He's trying to be a better dancer. For your birthday."

Brendon's eyes go round and a little shiny. "Okay," he says. 

"You can't let him know that you know," Jon says. "He wanted it to be a surprise."

"Yeah," Brendon says, softly, and his chest doesn't feel weird anymore, at least not in a bad way, anyway.

~*~

Spencer disappears in the middle of Brendon's birthday party, right when Brendon wants to find him to tell him the world's most awesome joke. He can't find him _anywhere_ , though, and Jon and Ryan and Shane are all looking secretive and smug, so Brendon just has to _assume_ that Spencer's about to spring some kind of surprise on him. 

Regan messes with his hair and straightens his shirt and seriously, Brendon's friends are the worst secret-keepers in the _world_. After this is over he's going to give them lessons because for real, his friends are _really shitty_ at this. Brendon kept his dancing secret for _years_ , so he feels pretty qualified to teach them how to do it better. 

He hangs about and keeps an eye out for Spencer and then, all of a sudden, he's just _there_. He's standing in front of Brendon and he's in a fucking tuxedo with _tails_ , and then the music changes, and Spencer holds out his hand. 

"Dance with me," he says, and he takes Brendon's hand and leads him out and on to the dance floor as Brendon nods his acceptance. 

People are smiling, and moving away so that there's a clear dance floor; Brendon would be embarrassed but he can't be, because Spencer's holding his hand, and when he leans close in, he says, "I think you're kind of cute."

Brendon goes _pink_. He can't even speak. "Spencer," he manages, and Spencer doesn't quite meet his eyes. 

"Shut up," Spencer says, and the tips of his ears are red. "I'm counting."

Normally Brendon's the one that leads but this time it's Spencer, and clearly the dance lessons have paid off because he's learnt how to. Brendon beams a lot and he keeps trying to tell Spencer how this is the most amazing thing ever. Spencer keeps having to shush him because he's _counting_ , and apparently going wrong in front of all these people would be a totally lame thing to do, especially as everyone is clapping and smiling at them both. 

Brendon keeps trying to hug him but Spencer just shakes his head and holds his frame tight and then carries on waltzing, because he says this is Brendon's birthday dance and it's not going to go wrong just because Brendon can't wait three more minutes to hug Spencer.

Secretly though, Brendon knows that Spencer's kind of looking forward to the hug. 

They dance together and it's kind of cute and when it's finished Brendon ducks his head and goes a bit pink, and they stop holding hands and Brendon wraps his arms around Spencer's neck and hugs him tight. "That was _awesome_ ," he says, and Spencer looks the other way and doesn't say anything. 

He blushes, though, which Brendon takes as a win. 

~*~

Later on in the evening, Spencer is still in his tails and Brendon is staying right by his side. They keep sneaking looks at each other, sidelong looks and secret smiles and they're totally standing in each other's personal space. Brendon thinks they might be flirting but he isn't sure. He never can tell, anyway. Maybe they just both really like dancing.

He thinks that Shane and Ryan and Jon would be laughing at them if they weren't off with their girlfriends, downing tequila shots in the corner. Brendon's pretty sure they're laughing at them anyway, but he doesn't care.

Pete's taken over the DJ booth, and he's playing a long list of songs that are all in Brendon's top fifty, which is kind of awesome. Brendon drags Spencer onto the dance floor and they don't waltz, but Brendon laughs a lot and tries ballroom dancing to Beyonce and old Blink-182. Everyone's clapping him on the back and grinning, and Brendon just can't stop laughing. 

Spencer hangs his head in shame and says, "What have I started?" but it doesn't stop him from holding on to Brendon's waist and fixing his frame and dancing very solemnly around the floor.

Then Pete says, over the mic, "This one's just for the birthday boy," and it's fucking _Frank Sinatra_ , and Brendon wants to dance for real. Spencer's not really sure of any dance that isn't the waltz, so they kind of make it up as they go along, anyway. It's stupid and Brendon just can't take his eyes off Spencer, and Spencer's just _watching_ him, and biting his lip and smiling like he can't stop. Spencer's laughing, but Brendon just isn't, because there's something in his chest that's kind of tight, and maybe Spencer-shaped. 

When the music changes, Brendon's pressed up right against Spencer's chest, and he wraps his arms around Spencer's neck. 

Spencer says stupidly "Your _frame_."

Brendon says "Your _mom_ ," and then he laughs and leans in and they just keep on moving around the floor, making up their own dance. 

~*~

After the party, when Brendon's sleepy and Spencer's kind of mellow, they're outside the venue waiting for cabs to take them all home. Spencer puts his arm around Brendon's shoulder and lets him lean against him sleepily. Jon and Cassie had disappeared a while ago, coming over and hugging Brendon goodnight. Cash and the others had called it a night too, tailing off after Pete and Travis who were talking about watching the sunrise. 

"You didn't want to watch the sunrise with the others?" Spencer asks Brendon, as they watch Ryan wrap his arms around Keltie, whispering in her ear as she leans into him, climbing into the cab to go follow Pete and Travis. 

Brendon shakes his head. "Sun rises every morning," he says. "Kind of rather just go home." 

Spencer blinks. "Uh," he says.

"If that's okay," Brendon says quickly. "I mean, if it's not -"

"No," Spencer says. "It is. I mean-" he tails off. 

"You learned to dance for me," Brendon tells him. "You really learned to dance for me."

Spencer shrugs, awkwardly. "You didn't have anyone to dance with, and it was your birthday, so." 

"Yeah," Brendon says, and he wraps his arms around Spencer's middle. 

After a moment, Spencer hugs him back. They wait in line for a cab.

~*~

They go back to Spencer's and Spencer slips upstairs to change while Brendon putters around the kitchen, opening cupboards and the fridge and making them both sandwiches with whatever he could find.

Spencer comes back down and they sit on the couch and eat sandwiches and have the TV on really low. The curtains are still open and they watch the sunrise, kind of, only by that point they're both sleepy and Brendon's got his arms wrapped around Spencer's middle and his head on Spencer's shoulder. Spencer kisses him when the first sunlight shadow touches his toes, and Brendon kisses back, his mouth opening beneath Spencer's, his tongue sliding easily into Spencer's mouth. 

"You learned to _dance_ for me," Brendon says after a while, moving so he's straddling Spencer's lap and tangling his fingers in Spencer's hair. 

"Only the waltz," Spencer tells him, sliding his hands into the curve of Brendon's spine and pulling him closer. 

"Only the waltz," Brendon repeats, rolling his eyes and running his thumbs down Spencer's jaw. "You wore tails. You danced with me on my birthday, Spencer Smith." 

"Good birthday present?" Spencer asks, his hands moving under Brendon's t-shirt. He looks really fucking nervous all of a sudden.

"Kind of the best ever," Brendon tells him, pulling back so that Spencer can see him. Brendon's completely serious. 

"Yeah?" Spencer says. 

Brendon's mouth is dry and his breath kind of feels choked. He sort of wants to pull Spencer closer, but then he wouldn't get to see Spencer looking like _this_. It's kind of breathtaking. 

"Yeah," Brendon says. "I kind of think that you've really raised the bar for next year. How are you going to beat _this_?"

"I could put a monkey in space," Spencer says. 

"But would he _dance_?" Brendon asks, softly. He feels kind of dazed. 

"I'd teach him," Spencer says, and Brendon leans in and kisses him again. 

~*~

Brendon waits until Spencer's out before he bugs Ryan and Jon for ideas for Spencer's birthday. He wants to do something as amazing as Spencer did for him, but he can't think of anything. 

Ryan just laughs. "Yeah, you want to do something nice for your _boyfriend_."

"We're not boyfriends," Brendon maintains, because they're not. They kiss sometimes, but they spend most of their time sitting in opposite corners of the bus when anyone else is around. 

Ryan and Jon seem to find it totally ridiculous that Brendon and Spencer still haven't gotten it together properly. Whatever. Most of the time they skirt around each other and look the other way but it's amazing how many times the back of their hands brush when they're in the kitchen or brushing their teeth in the tiny bathroom. Plus, Spencer's stopped sharing with Ryan on hotel nights; he and Brendon pretend like they're stuck with each other but Brendon's pretty sure that Ryan thinks he knows better.

"Spencer's birthday isn't for _ages_ ," Jon points out. Brendon's birthday was only a month ago. 

Brendon raises his eyebrows. "I need time to prepare," he says, airily, and pops a straw into a new capri-sun. "It needs to be something amazing."

"Because you're _boyfriends_ ," Ryan says, under his breath. Jon kicks him and Brendon pretends not to hear.

"Why don't you take him out for dinner?" Jon suggests, while Brendon bemoans his lack of appropriate birthday surprise. 

"Because that's totally lame," Brendon says. "Also, do we look like an old married couple?"

Ryan doesn't look like he can stop himself from saying _yes_. He rolls his eyes. 

"Why don't you just book a hotel room and bang his brains out?" Zack asks. He's reading the paper. 

Brendon blinks. Ryan and Jon raise an eyebrow. 

After a moment, Zack drops the newspaper. "Did I say that out loud?" he asks. 

Nobody says anything. 

"We don't -" Brendon starts. "We're not -"

Zack rolls his eyes and folds his newspaper into four. "Whatever, little dude."

"You are, you know," Ryan says, after Zack's left. 

Brendon shrugs awkwardly, and sits down. "Are we, though?" 

Jon sits down next to him and slings an arm round Brendon's shoulders. "He's not a natural dancer, you know."

"He is," Brendon says, automatically. 

Ryan rolls his eyes again. 

Jon - heroically - doesn't. 

"He _is_ ," Brendon says again. "His frame is totally getting better plus he's really light on his feet and he's good at the footwork and knows when to lead off on the heel and his extension is good and -"

"- and you're in love with him," Ryan finishes. 

"Yeah, and that." Brendon says. "You think he knows?"

"Pretty much," Ryan says, He seems pretty pleased with himself.

"Moron," Jon says, affectionately. 

"You think he minds?" Brendon asks, after a moment. He's uncharacteristically quiet. 

"Not particularly," Ryan says, restrainedly. 

"He dressed up like a dumbass in front of everyone you've ever met," Jon says. 

"He didn't look like a dumbass," Brendon says. 

"He kind of did." 

"Did not," Brendon says. 

"He danced the _waltz_ with you. In front of your parents. In front of _his_ parents. In front of Pete and _Gabe_ and fucking _Cash_."

Cash had been texting Brendon ever since, mostly to point and laugh.

"Yeah, but -" Brendon starts. 

Ryan rolls his eyes for the millionth time. "Brendon. Brendon, he danced with you. He dressed up like a fucking penguin for you. If the two of you think you're hiding it then you're both stupid."

"It was my birthday," Brendon tells him. Pathetically.

"He invited you home with him," Ryan says, patiently. "You stayed over and there was _kissing_."

"There was?" Jon asks. 

"How did you know?" Brendon blinks.

"Because I'm not _stupid_ ," Ryan told them. "Because the two of you have hearts for eyes and you're driving me crazy and why don't you hire a fucking dance hall and woo the fuck out of him or whatever?"

Brendon blinks again. 

"Shut _up_ ," Jon hisses, but it's too late. 

"A _dance hall_ ," Brendon says. "Oh my god that's like, the best idea ever."

"He'll hate it," Jon says. 

"He _won't_ ," Brendon says. "Plus, you know, he'll be dancing with me, so. What's there to hate?"

Ryan looks like he's contemplating banging his head off the wall. "It's a long time until September, Brendon."

"I _know_ ," Brendon says. "So I'm totally going to bring his birthday forward. To like, next week."

Jon slides under the table. "I'm just going to stay under here," he says, "until the crazy people have gone away."

Brendon kicks him. "You think it's really romantic, Walker, don't pretend that you're too cool for romance."

"I'm too cool for ballroom dance," Jon says, from under the table.

"No one's too cool for ballroom dance," Brendon says. "Spencer's going to love it. I'm going to get a _band_."

"Where from?" Ryan asks, stupidly. 

Brendon's eyes shine. " _You_ ," he says. 

Ryan darts away from him. "No fucking way, Urie." 

"Should have hidden under the table with me," Jon says. His voice is muffled.

"And _you_ ," Brendon says, kicking Jon in the thigh. "You guys could be my band."

"No, no, _no_ ," Jon says. 

"Yes," Brendon says. "You could play for us. It'll be amazing. Spencer will totally love it."

"He won't," Jon says, from under the table. 

Brendon though, Brendon sort of thinks that he might.

~*~

Brendon thinks that this might be his greatest idea ever. It takes about a gazillion hours of preparation, which means that he has to spend a lot of time in the back lounge with his cellphone or hiding down hallways at the venue, trying to organize it all. It's all coming together. He's booked the dance hall for three hours next Thursday morning, which is kind of a weird time for wooing, Brendon's got to admit, but it was the only time he could get a hall on a day when they didn't have any interviews to do. He has to fit around the old people's dancing class in the afternoon and their sound check, so Brendon's suddenly pretty enthusiastic about the idea of morning wooing. Try as he might, though, he can't persuade Ryan and Jon to play for him. He's promised just about everything he can think of but nothing's giving. He thinks that he's finally getting somewhere though, because Ryan's stopped rolling his eyes and has started disappearing to the back lounge with Jon and his laptop and their guitars. 

When they come out, hours later, Jon just pats Brendon on the back and slides a CD into his back pocket, saying, "I'm making a list, Urie, I'm making a list."

"I hope you're checking it twice," Brendon tells him, because he doesn't care what he has to do to make it up to Ryan and Jon. They've made him a CD to dance to. 

"I'll email it to you," Jon says, seriously. "You can get on it soon as."

"Whatever you want," Brendon tells him. "Seriously."

~*~

He's made all the arrangements. Zack's in on it, so is the driver and Jon and Ryan and pretty much everyone else on tour. Spencer's the only one in the dark, which means that he's alternating between looking grumpy and trying to wheedle the information out of anyone who is stupid enough to spend more than five minutes in his vicinity. 

"Wheedling does not become you," Brendon tells him airily, on Monday morning. "Neither does begging."

Brendon spends the next two hours locked in the back lounge with a mysterious suitcase full of clothes that Zack's dropped off. Spencer keeps hanging around the door and accidentally stumbling into the door every time the bus goes round a corner. 

"I've locked the door," Brendon shouts. 

~*~

On Wednesday, Spencer stops talking to Ryan and Brendon. Ryan just rolls his eyes and calls him a moron, but Brendon starts to get worried. "What if he doesn't like the surprise?" he asks, in between bedazzling his bow-tie and trying to take his trousers in. He's pretty poor with a needle and thread.

"He will," Ryan says, lazily. He's been allowed into the back lounge because he's usually pretty good when it comes to bedazzling. He's mostly lying on his back and kicking Brendon in the thigh, though. 

"But, like, what if doesn't want to be wooed?"

"He does," Ryan says, and kicks Brendon harder. 

"But -"

"Shut up," Ryan says, "Or I'll be forced to kill you, and then Spencer would have to kill _me_ , and I don't want to die, so. Shut up."

"You think Spencer would kill for me?" Brendon perks up. "Spencer's awesome."

"Spencer hates you both," Spencer shouts, through the locked door. 

~*~

Brendon hopes Spencer wants to be wooed. 

~*~

 

Brendon's been up since seven, trying to finalize everything so it's perfect for Spencer. Jon's been up since not that long after, mostly because Brendon was excitable and nervous and banging around the bus making enough noise to raise the dead. Or alternatively, Spencer. Brendon quieted after that, mostly because Jon makes him coffee and makes him eat cereal and listens while Brendon talked over the final arrangements. He's pretty cool, too, telling Brendon that Spencer's not going to think that Brendon's an idiot, or a tool, or a dick or a moron. He tells him this while repeatedly poking him in the thigh and making funny faces, but Brendon's pretty sure Jon's telling the truth.

They have the hall booked from ten, so he has to wake Spencer up at nine with a huge cup of coffee from Starbucks - that's part of the surprise, and they have to make a detour so that Brendon can go and pick up Spencer's favorite peppermint latte with whipped cream. He sits in the jump seat with the driver and the map printed off from the Starbucks website and goes and lines up himself for Spencer's favorite coffee. Brendon can't remember which of the muffins and cakes are Spencer's favorites, so he buys a selection and gets the barista to put them in a paper bag for him. He's wearing his bedazzled ballroom outfit, so he gets some odd looks, but he doesn't care. 

Brendon refuses to get anyone else coffee, not even the driver. "I will be your coffee monkey forever," he says, vaguely seriously, "but today the coffee is for Spencer." He doesn't even buy himself one, and when he catches Jon trying to open the paper bag and sneak out a muffin, he kicks him in the shin and narrows his eyes. "Spencer's," he says. "These are wooing muffins. Muffins of woo-ness. They are not yours."

Jon holds his hands up and backs the hell away from the table. Brendon clutches the muffin bag tightly. 

He wakes Spencer up with his coffee, pulling back the curtain and curling himself into the bunk.

"Why are you waking me up?" Spencer says, grumpily, once Brendon's sitting on his leg and accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and almost spilt hot coffee across his lap. 

"I brought you coffee," Brendon says. "From Starbucks."

Spencer blinks. "You, um, what?" 

"Coffee," Brendon repeats patiently. He's sitting cross-legged half way down the bunk, ducking his head so he doesn't hit the ceiling. He's kind of uncomfortable, all twisted up like a pretzel, but Spencer's rubbing his eyes and trying to struggle up into a sitting position, and he's all sleepy and half-awake and his shoulders are bare and Brendon kind of wants to curl up and stay here, just the two of them. "I've got muffins too, for when you get up."

"Muffins?" Spencer says stupidly. 

"Surprise muffins," Brendon says. "They're part of your surprise."

"Surprise?" Spencer reaches for his paper cup, double cupped just like he likes it, keeping the heat in. 

"Yep," Brendon nods. "Today's your surprise day. It's your day of surprises." 

"Hmmm," Spencer says, and he takes off the lid, leaning in close to his coffee. He almost but not quite gets whipped cream on the end of his nose. He doesn't look convinced. "A day of surprises?"

"Uh-huh," Brendon says. "I'm wooing you."

"You're _what_?" Spencer manages to keep hold of his coffee cup but it's a close-run thing. 

Brendon shrugs. "I'm wooing you. You are going to be wooed. This is a day of wooing." He blinks. "You're not going to say no, are you? Because that would seriously suck, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need some time to deal if you're gonna turn me down."

"Brendon," Ryan says, from somewhere above them. "You suck so much at this."

"Shut up," Brendon says, loudly. Then, to Spencer, "You're not going to turn me down, are you?"

Spencer shakes his head. "Pretty much, no," he says. "I haven't yet, have I?"

"Oh," Brendon says, swallowing hard and pinking. "No. Well. Good. That's good."

"I hate you both," Ryan calls. "So much." 

"Shut up," Spencer says, loudly. "I'm being wooed and you're spoiling the mood."

Brendon just smiles.

~*~

Jon and Ryan's CD is kind of epic, and even though Spencer blushes the whole way through, it's kind of amazing, having the hall to themselves and dancing. 

"So," Spencer says, "You're trying to, uh, woo me?"

"Yes," Brendon says, keeping his frame fixed. "Is it working?"

Spencer shrugs. "Yes," he says, and Brendon grins. 

"You think you can kiss me and still keep on dancing?" he says. 

Spencer laughs. "Yeah," he says, and leans in. 

Brendon smiles against Spencer's mouth, and kisses him back. 

~*~

[Epilogue]

Brendon's listening to his iPod and humming along, and he's dancing across the kitchen, arms out for an invisible partner. He doesn't notice Spencer, who's leaning up against the door jamb and rubbing his eyes and smiling. 

When Brendon sees him, he stumbles to a halt and grins. "I was trying not to wake you," he says. 

Spencer rolls his eyes. "I got cold," Spencer tells him, which is totally lame but also completely true. "You're like a radiator."

"I do my best," Brendon says. "I was going to make breakfast." 

Spencer blinks. 

"I am a cereal king, Spencer Smith," Brendon says, airily, waving his hand at his cereal shelf. He really is. "You want to dance with me first?"

Spencer nods. "Okay," he says. "What are we dancing to?" 

Brendon's still wearing his earbuds. He tugs Spencer closer by his t-shirt. "Rainbow Connection," he says, fixing Spencer's arms and grinning. 

Spencer laughs. "Tell me it's by someone cool, the Dresden Dolls, at least."

"Do not taint the sanctity of the original," Brendon tells him, fiddling with one of his earbuds and putting it in Spencer's ear. "Kermit."

Brendon thinks that Spencer really shouldn't have expected anything else. 

 

[END]


End file.
